


things aren't always as they seem

by snottygrrl



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AWDT Prompt, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-08
Updated: 2006-06-11
Packaged: 2017-10-13 01:35:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/131356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snottygrrl/pseuds/snottygrrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>harry's injured, draco wants to help</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **warnings:** a touch of angst. hurt/comfort, character death (neither harry nor draco), reference to past violence  
>  **disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  
>  This author is not responsible for underage readers. Please observe the ratings, warnings, and age of legal consent for your country.  
>  **author's note:** written for a series of awdt prompts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the awdt prompt for this chapter was _"I will get naked for your entertainment."_ i didn't feel like doing something silly (which is the first thing that comes to mind with that line), and then i remembered a surreal bit in a fic i'd read over at [](http://sheafrotherdon.livejournal.com/profile)[**sheafrotherdon**](http://sheafrotherdon.livejournal.com/), so i stole a bit of an idea from her.

All Harry could comprehend was pain. He didn't know where he was, nor how long he'd been there. He had no ability to cry out much less perform any kind of controlled movement. Everything was consumed with the agony.

A piece of his brain detached for a moment and noted that, _this was it. He was going to die._

He was swallowing the liquid before he even realised that someone was cradling his head and holding a bottle of potion to his lips.

"That should help with the pain," the someone was saying.

It was helping. His body suffused with warmth that pushed the torment out and away, leaving a dull throbbing in its wake. Harry blinked rapidly as his vision cleared. Finding himself in a large ornate bed, he was stunned to see Snape standing beside it.

"And now, I will get naked for your entertainment." Snape's voice was bland as he began to undo his ubiquitous buttons.

But before Harry could voice a protest, Professor McGonagall was standing in his place. Harry glanced around warily to see if Snape, and his clothes, were anywhere about. He didn't see either.

"Mr. Potter." Returning his gaze to the Headmistress, Harry wondered if he knew that she'd stopped wearing her traditional wizards robes, trading them for a shawl, long tartan kilt and claymore. "Hate is not hate which alters when it alteration finds, or bends with the remover to remove:"

"What? Wait… What? I thought that was love."

McGonagall shrugged from her position astride a large sheep that was outfitted with tack and saddle. "Same difference," she said, as she (and her sheep) turned into Albus in a pink tutu.

His old mentor popped a sherbet lemon in his mouth. "Things are not always what they seem, my dear boy."

"Potter." Someone was calling his name from the other side of the bed. "Potter, stay with me. Potter!" However, Harry was having trouble dragging his attention away from the Headmaster, who was now pirouetting around the room.

A stinging slap knocked his head aside, and he realised he was lying on a forest floor caked in mud and blood. His right leg and several ribs were broken and his left arm hung loosely by his side. "Sorry about that, the potion is rather strong. Whoever you were talking to wasn't really there. Can you ride tandem? We need to get out of here." The voice was tight with anxiety.

Harry stared at Draco Malfoy, who he hadn't seen since the night of Professor Dumbledore's death, and nodded numbly.

"Good. Let's go."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the awdt prompts used in this chapter are _table dancing_ and _all my friends are getting married_

Harry awoke and looked around trying to remember where he was and what had happened that caused so much pain.

"Ah, I see you're conscious."

Malfoy. A dim memory of a harrowing broom flight edged its way into his awareness. "Where am I?"

"The very question I was going to ask you. What do you see?"

Anger sparked through Harry. "What kinda question's that? Trying to see if your _Praestigiae_ spell's still working?" He struggled to sit up, pain blossoming in his side and splinted leg. "Must _not_ be, because I seriously doubt you'd conjure a dingy little flat in Hufflepuff yellow."

"Hardly." Malfoy's tone remained light despite the slight tensing of his jaw – which Harry noted with satisfaction. "Welcome back to that dreary thing called reality. Nice of you to finally join the rest of us poor blighters who slog through it on a daily basis. I was beginning to think they'd managed to do something permanent to you."

"Sorry to disappoint."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Yes, because listening to you have discussions with dead people is oh-so entertaining. I was particularly fond of your ongoing argument with our former potions professor about how unfair it was that he kept stopping the table dancing."

With growing horror, Harry recalled one particular angry tirade. To Snape. Snape, who had to be a complete hallucination since the man had been returned to the Order in pieces upon Voldemort's discovery that Snape was significantly aiding Harry in some, apparently still undiscovered, project. Harry, himself, had received Snape's head. There was no doubt that the erstwhile spy was no longer living. Yet, Harry had been railing at him about halting the erotic gyrations of the blond now standing beside the very real bed that Harry was lying in.

Flushing deep red, Harry prayed he hadn't said anything about who was dancing. "Where am I?" he asked again, trying to move the conversation to a safer topic.

Malfoy seemed to ignore him. "Are you going to stay with me this time?"

A flood of images that Harry knew he shouldn't be having, entered his mind. "Wh-what do you mean?" Harry squeaked.

"Only that this conversation has an eerie aspect of déjà vu. Yesterday you seemed lucid enough. Looked me straight in the eye and asked where you were. When I explained that we're in my flat in Brighton, you turned to the other side of the bed and started arguing that _Of course there should be table dancing, we're in Brighton, after all._ " Harry contemplated the irony of escaping repeated attempts on his life by Voldemort and his Death Eaters, only to die of embarrassment in a tiny flat in Brighton. "When I tried to get your attention again," Malfoy continued, "you turned to me with the most pathetic expression, said, _All my friends are getting married_ , and passed out cold. Haven't made another sound until just now."

"Well, all my friends _are_ getting married," Harry responded petulantly.

Malfoy snorted. "Nothing's better for the wedding business than war."

Opening his mouth to snap a retort, Harry paused as his brain tracked back to something Malfoy'd said earlier. "Hang on, you've got a flat in Brighton? Muggle Brighton?" His voice was incredulous.

This time it was Malfoy's turn to be defensive. "I'm in hiding, Potter. It isn't as if I was going to invite anyone over for tea. I'm doing what I must to stay alive. Nice to know you're so grateful I had somewhere safe to bring you."

"Safe? With you?" Harry choked out. He paused, as Malfoy glared at him. Finally, he sighed. "Never though I'd consider somewhere with you 'safe'. How long've I been out of it, anyway?"

"More than five days. Think you can eat something? You really need to eat."

"You my nursemaid now?"

Malfoy shrugged. "Someone has to be. I don't make it a practice to risk my neck on lost causes. That's your area of expertise, not mine. Here, try to get some of this down." He handed Harry a bowl of soup.

Harry's stomach rumbled at the welcome smell of food. "Thanks, Malfoy."

Malfoy watched him for a moment as he began to eat. "Your welcome, Potter."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the awdt prompt for this chapter is _"it's a beautiful feeling"_

The bandage on one of his many wounds was being changed with careful hands when Harry awoke the next time.

He kept his eyes closed, willing himself to believe that it was one of his friends, alive and well enough to tend to his injuries, despite the fact that the touch was too gentle for Ron or Seamus, the fingers too delicate for Hermione or Neville.

A snippet from a conversation he'd had with Ron once when they were patching each other up after a difficult mission flashed through his mind. Ron had been hit with a particularly nasty hex that took quite a while to cure.

When Harry had finally succeed, Ron sighed with relief and said, "You know that moment when the agony finally stops and you're sure you've made it through another bloody assignment still breathing and in one piece?" Harry had nodded. "It's a beautiful feeling, mate."

The sting of a healing potion brought Harry sharply to the present and he hissed in pain.

"Sorry, Potter. We can't use our wands if we want to stay undetected, so we're stuck with potions, Muggle methods and dear old Mother Nature's slow ways."

A hand soothed over his back. Not Ron's. Not Hermione's. Not even Neville's nor Luna's.

Harry was glad he was facing away from Malfoy as his tears soaked the pillow.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the awdt prompt for this chapter was that the drabble had to be a letter.

Dear Professor Snape,

Don't worry, I'm quite aware that you are dead. Life isn't a faery tale and I'm not under the delusion that the huntsman used a deer. The hand and heart the Malfoy eagle owl brought were yours, I'm sure. And though some might argue that you could exist just fine without your heart, you'd never survive without your hand. The Dark Lord is an oddly poetic sick fuck isn't he?

So it's not that I doubt your death, nor that I believe your ghost is lurking about either. I trust that you did the proper Slytherin thing and scarpered when given the chance. You and I both know there are much worse things than being dead.

No, it's merely that I spent so long writing you reports when you were alive and we were helping Potter with this Horcrux hunt, that it feels wrong not to put quill to parchment. Don't worry, I'll burn this after I finish as you always did once you'd read them, but I need to write to put my thoughts in order.

I was tailing him when he went after the Ravenclaw Horcrux. I know you never wanted me to do that, put myself in that proximity to danger, but since you had to go and get yourself brutally murdered, who else is left to help the prat?

The Dark Lord almost managed to kill Potter this time, without even lifting a finger. He would have succeeded to, if I'd not come along when I did. There were obviously some pretty nasty traps on Ravenclaw's broach for Potter to have been in such a state. Well that and the Death Eaters that stumbled over him in his weakened condition. For a wee while I was frighteningly sure there was permanent damage to Potter's mind, but he seems to have returned to his same annoying self.

Even I have to admit that Potter is a formidable force. No one should have been able to survive what he did. Granted it's taking him a bloody long time to recover, but recovering he is. Perhaps his Gryffindor habit of blundering ahead despite the rules is useful in cases like this. Any Slytherin would have realised the odds were insurmountable.

It is as if the git doesn't understand that he _should_ be dead and thus isn't.

In any case, we still have to figure out how to destroy the sodding broach and not get either of us killed in the process. I wish you were here. Not that I'm being sentimental. You were the expert in destroying dark objects, not I and certainly not Potter.

At least this is the last Horcrux (barring The Dark Lord himself). Of course that just means after we destroy it, I'm left with the impossible task of figuring out a way to get Potter in front of him for a final duel whilst remaining healthy enough to actually kill the Dark Lord in the end.

Should be a piece of cake, right?

I'll have to sign off now. The Boy Who Just Won't Die is starting to stir about. Wish me luck.

Regards,  
Draco Malfoy


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the awdt prompt for this chapter was _"That's open to interpretation."_

"We have to destroy it soon." Harry's voice was tight with suppressed emotion.

He still winced every time he moved, and Draco knew Harry should be resting. He was far from healed, but they didn't have the luxury of more time.

"You think?" Draco's own concerns were making him snappish. Seeing Harry's expression harden, Draco silently cursed himself for letting his temper get the better of him. In an attempt to lighten the mood, he quipped, "Well it's your turn to play hero anyway. I did my turn when I saved your arse."

Harry's mouth quirked up a little at the edges. "That's open to interpretation."

"What? That I saved you? How do you figure?"

"Someone else was probably on their way. I'll bet Ron would have come along soon."

The image of Weasley's broken body, crumpled into a heap next to Harry was not one Draco was likely to forget anytime soon. It must have shown on his face, because Harry's eyes widened in horror before he whispered, "Oh god, He did, didn't he?"

Draco responded with a curt nod.

They sat in pained silence for moment, words seemingly inadequate to express their situation.

"We're running out of time, Draco."

Draco grasped Harry's forearm and gave it, what he hoped was, a reassuring squeeze. "I Know, Harry. I know."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the awdt prompt used in this chapter was _"It was just a kiss." And bonus points if you use..."I want to be a pirate" in it as well._

As it turned out, because his Gryffindor instincts to protect others caused him to take the brunt of the curse the Ravenclaw broach released, that just like second year, Harry ended up destroying a Horcrux as he was sure that he was dying.

Then someone else had saved him.

And while Draco was no phoenix, oddly enough Harry had found that the blond's tears, though not having any actual physical healing qualities, were nevertheless a balm to his injured psyche. As were Draco's colourful and unique obscenities he quite frequently spat over what Harry had done, seemingly intent on giving him no end of grief.

Still, Harry felt that once Voldemort was gone, it would be more than all right with him if he could avoid any more near death experiences and not have quite so much pain.

They'd mutually decided not to give Harry any more of the _Percuro_ \- the strong pain draught – not knowing if Voldemort would be able to tell that the last Horcrux had been destroyed and come hunting for them. Could one feel the difference as one went from immortal to mortal in the space of a heartbeat? It was agreed that pain or no, Harry had to be as alert as possible.

Personally, Harry was less afraid of Voldemort showing than he was of what he might say under the influence of the potion. Draco wouldn't let him forget the last time he'd had the draught and the moment when he'd suddenly sat bolt upright and burst out "I want to be a pirate!" and then proceeded to tell Draco what a smashing swashbuckler he'd make and what a brilliant time they'd have sailing the high seas.

As it was, even without the potion, his pain-clogged brain was fixating on the inexplicable gentleness with which Draco tended his injuries. The grace of his hands when he changed Harry's bandages; the undeniable compassion in his actions as he made sure Harry ate enough and slept as comfortably as he could.

Then there was the kiss. And no matter now many times Harry told himself it was just a kiss, and not much of a kiss at that, he could still feel the press of lips against his forehead as Draco cradled him moments after he'd managed to halt Harry's imminent death. Draco's lips had been slightly chapped, but warm and tender. The careful caress had contrasted sharply with the vehement tone of the words he had been murmuring against the skin. "Don't you leave me, Harry. Don't you dare leave me."

Even at the time Harry was well aware that it was most likely a good thing that his weakened state kept him from doing what he desperately wanted to. Capture those soft lips and whisper just as fiercely, "Never."


End file.
